


The Bobby Maler Fiasco

by ShippingEverything



Category: Spring Awakening - Sheik/Sater
Genre: Bobby Maler is the bad guy sorry i needed a villian, Hanschen And Thea Are Siblings, Jealousy, M/M, i had fun writing this but it k i l l e d m e, oh! mildly hinted at pirate queens bc im trash, okay so, sort of a prequel????? idk man, theres a secret and a disagreement and theyre both dumb pissbabies tbh, they get it together in the end tho, took 5ever to write jfc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-11
Updated: 2015-10-11
Packaged: 2018-04-25 20:42:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4975804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShippingEverything/pseuds/ShippingEverything
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ernst and Hanschen don’t fight. Until they do</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Bobby Maler Fiasco

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [isn't it funny-](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4768076) by [ShippingEverything](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShippingEverything/pseuds/ShippingEverything). 



> written for kelsey and that lovely anon Cassie Pontmercy
> 
> Sort of prequel to "isn't it funny-", but you don't need to read one to understand the other or anything, they're just in the same universe.

Hanschen, in a stunning display of romcom-quality cliche, gets a crush on his TA.

It’s just, Robert ‘You guys can call me Bobby, I’m not _that_ much older than you!’ Maler is _so hot_ and funny and cool and he wears these _khakis_ and-

“He’s killing me, Ernst,” Hanschen absolutely does _not_ whine, flopping into the seat across from Ernst and sprawling across the table. Ernst makes a quiet dissenting noise but doesn’t actually do anything. “No, seriously, I’m going to _die_. Today, he was writing on the board and he dropped the marker, so he had to bend over and get them and _my god_ , those _khakis_.”

Ernst mutters something that sounds sort of like “Khaki more like _tacky_.”

“What?”

“What?” Ernst blinks. Hanschen squints suspiciously for a moment, but just shrugs. Ernst rolls his eyes. “It’s only a week until finals, and then you can do whatever it is that you want to do with _Bobby_. You’ll be fine.”

“You don’t _understand_ , Ernst!” And Hanschen _does_ whine this time, taking Ernst’s hands, “Have you ever been around someone and felt so into them that you head spins? That every single thing they do makes you want to just grab them by the collar and kiss them silly?”

Ernst’s gaze flickers between their hands and Hanschen eyes. His cheeks redden a bit and it’s sort of adorabl- _You stop that right now, brain_.

“Um. Yes?” He says, flushing more, “I think I might know that feeling, a little. Maybe.”

“Oh really?” Hanschen sits up, his agony evaporating, “You have a crush that you haven’t told me about?”

“Ha ha, I wouldn’t- I wouldn’t exactly call it a _crush_.”

“What, are you in _love_?” Hanschen teases, mentally running through whom it might be. Ernst is, despite what he tells his parents, 200% gay, so that thins the pool out a bit. It could be someone from class, but it’s most likely one of their close friends. _Melchior, probably_ , Hanschen thinks, because everyone goes through a Melchior phase, _It could be Moritz though, they talk a lot._

Hanschen snaps out of his thoughts when he realizes that Ernst isn’t replying. When he looks up, Ernst is a previously unseen color of red, his face a painful looking combination of a grimace and a smile.

“Are you okay?”

Ernst’s expression contorts a bit more and Hanschen thinks he’s trying to smile. “Just peachy.”

* * *

Ernst isn’t _in love_ with Hanschen.

No, really, he _isn’t_.

“You kind of are,” Moritz says, stealing one of Ernst’s chips. Ernst scowls.

“You’re not helping.”

“Look, I like to think I know something about being hopelessly in love with someone-”

“It’s not _hopeless_ ,” Ernst interrupts, rolling his eyes, “If you’d just _talk_ to him-”

“That’s rich, coming from you,” Moritz volleys back, before continuing onto his point, “But the thing about being hopelessly in love, is that you can see other in love people, and you’ve got it _bad_. Back me up, Matthew.”

Matthew, Ernst’s painfully straight but generally okay roommate, looks up from his studying and blinks. “Are we talking about the intense brunet one that lectured me about China for twenty minutes at that party, or the blond one that keeps hitting on me even though I’ve made it completely clear that I have a girlfriend?”

Moritz says “The blond,” at the same time that Ernst growls “He’s been _hitting on you_?”

“Um,” Matthew blinks and returns to his textbook without another word.

“You’re in _deep_.”

Ernst buries his face in his notes and groans, “But he’s going to ask _Bobby freaking Maler_ out as soon as he turns in his final.”

Moritz makes a noise and shrugs. “Hanschen doesn’t really _do_ relationships, right? There’s no way it’ll last long.”

Ernst sighs, “With my luck, they’ll end up married with 2.5 adorable children.”

“You can’t have 2.5 kids,” Moritz says, which isn’t _nearly_ as reassuring as he probably means it to be. “Unless you have, like, some kind of deformed half child? Or if you have one child that’s only worth half of a regular child? But that's kind of horrible, assigning some type of worth to your children so some are better and worth more of a child than others are. That would be messed up.”

“I bet _Bobby Maler_ would assign worth to his children,” Ernst says, probably a bit ridiculous but he is _hurting_ and he’s allowed to be bitter.

“You’re being overdramatic,” Moritz says, and Ernst can hear him rolling his eyes. “I’m sure Bobby Maler isn’t _that_ bad.”

* * *

A week after Hanschen writes his number at the end of his final, Bobby Maler calls him.

Hanschen doesn’t answer the phone on the first ring, because he isn’t some desperate high schooler, but he does answer it not long after. “Hello?”

“Hey,” Drawls _Bobby Maler_ , “This is Hans, right?”

“No! I mean, yes, but-” Hanschen takes a deep breath, “You can call me Hanschen. All my friends do.”

Bobby chuckles, smooth and low and intimate and Hanschen is _melting_. “Cute. You wanna go out sometime? I hear there’s this snoozefest of a movie showing at the Megaplex, and the theater probably won’t be very busy, if you’re okay with that.”

“Give me a minute to check my schedule,” Hanschen says, then mutes his phone while he makes sounds that had previously only been made by characters in bad teen romcoms. He clears his throat and unmutes. “Yeah, I’m free on Friday?”

“Awesome. See you then, little Hans,” Bobby says, his voice full of promise and oh lord, Hanschen is excited and blushy and starting to feel like _Moritz_.

Hanschen breathes, rather then says, goodbye, and proceeds to flop back on his bed to flail his arms around and scream into his pillow.

He’s going on a date with _Bobby Maler_.

* * *

"Are you excited?" Ernst asks as soon as he opens the door.

Hanschen blinks. "For?"

Hanschen goes to sit on Ernst’s bed and Ernst is mostly over the whole ‘alone in a room with Hanschen on his bed’ thing, but he still bounds over and sits a bit too close because, well, _mostly_ and Hanschen hasn’t ranted about Bobby even though finals are long over, so he’s back to thinking that maybe he could possibly have a chance with Hanschen, one day. “Ant-Man! Tomorrow! Midnight premire! I’ve had our tickets for like, four months and I’m pretty sure I’ve talked about it every day for the last month.”

“Oh, that. At the Megaplex?”

“Duh.”

Hanschen stiffens slightly. “Look, I actually can’t go tomorrow. You’ll have to find someone else.”

“What do you _mean_ you ‘can’t go’? We’ve been planning this since they released the teaser trailer like a _year ago_.”

He knows that sometimes things happen and sometimes plans change, but plans that you made _a year ago_ are supposed to stay _solid_.

“Look,” Hanschen says, shrugging, “Something came up. I can’t go to the midnight showing.”

Ernst waits, but when Hanschen doesn’t speak again he says, “And are you going to expand on your inability to go, or?”

“I don’t have to explain myself to you, Ernst,” Hanschen rolls his eyes, “God, it’s not like you’re my boyfriend or something.”

And Ernst _knows that_ , okay? He's painfully aware of the fact, but, "We're supposed to be _friends_."

"Well, a friend would leave it alone! God, you're so clingy,” Hanschen huffs, “I just can’t go, and if you were really my friend, you would just _chill_ and stop being such a baby.”

"Get out."

Ernst doesn’t register that it’s _his_ voice that said the sharp words until Hanschen blinks confusedly and says, "What?"

"Get out," Ernst repeats, taking a deep breath, because even if the word were an accident, Ernst is angry and sad and he just wants Hanschen to _go away now_. "Get out of my dorm, and don't come back until you stop being such a dick."

" _I'm_ being a dick?" Hanschen scoffs, "Ernst, you're the one being ridiculous about some movie that's not even going to be that good!"

Ernst gasps. Ant-man is going to be fucking _awesome_ and Ernst doesn’t need someone like Hanschen spoiling his premiere showing anyway. He points at the door.

"Ernst, you can't be- Seriously, this is so-" Hanschen waves his hands through the air, before huffing and getting up. "Whatever, _drama queen_ , I'll see you when you get over your little tantrum."

"Fuck you," Ernst snarls, and shuts the door on Hanschen's shocked face.

As soon as the door's closed the anger rushes out, making him feel cold and sad and tired. He slides down the door. Even if it usually doesn't end up like this, Ernst is always the one putting more effort into sustaining their friendship--dragging Hanschen out for coffee, planning study sessions, always being the one to text first--and he's just so fucking _tired_.

 _Love sucks_ , he texts Moritz after a few minutes of staring into space, wiping off the tears he hadn't even registered crying.

 _theres no one in the common room in my dorm_ , Moritz texts back after a minute, _we could watch evil dead?_

Ernst replies with a string of grinning emoji and flowers. Before he leaves he pulls up Facebook and types a quick status. He does, after all, have a movie waiting for him.

* * *

**Ernst Robel**

_Anyone free tomorrow night, 11-ish to 3? I have an extra Ant-Man ticket._

> **Thea Rilow** if this is my brothers fault im going to beat him up
> 
> **Ernst Robel** Thea NO
> 
> I just accidentally brought an extra ticket!
> 
> **Thea Rilow** suuuuuuuuuure
> 
> **Ilse Neu** i’d go but i promised felix that i’d model for him :’(
> 
> **Moritz Stiefel** I’d take your extra ticket but I already have one of my own????????
> 
> **Ernst Robel** Truly a tragic event :P I’ll see you in line, nerd.
> 
> **David Jacobs** I could go, but I’ll only accept your ticket if you’ll let me buy you dinner beforehand.
> 
> **Ernst Robel** Yeah! That’d be super cool!! I’ll message you so we can sort out the details :) :) :)

* * *

Hanschen comes back the next day to apologize, because he realizes that his problem with the Megaplex isn’t Ernst’s fault at all. It’s almost ten, he’s armed with a bouquet of apology flowers, Ernst’s favorite chocolate, and the Age of Ultron DVD, and he’s ready to grovel his way to forgiveness. He knocks on the door and takes a deep breath.

“Ernst, I’m incredibly-” Hanschen blinks. Ernst’s unfortunately straight roommate blinks back. “You’re not Ernst.”

“Um?” The roommate says.

“Where’s Ernst?”

The roommate coughs awkwardly. “I had thought he was with you? He left like thirty minutes ago to go get dinner with some guy? I just assumed he meant-”

Hanschen cuts him off by walking away. He juggles the gifts into his left hand and pull out his phone.

“Yo?” Thea says.

“Hello, sister dear,” Hanschen replies, trying his best to sound nice. Thea scoffs.

“What did you do this time?”

Hanschen sighs. “Do you know where Ernst is?”

“On a date, with that David kid from his lit class,” Thea says, and Hanschen nearly trips on the hall carpeting in his surprise. “They’re going to get burgers and go see Ant-Man at the Megaplex, if Moritz’s gossip can be trusted.”

“He’s on a date?”Hanschen asks incredulously, because Ernst _doesn’t go on dates_.

“Yep,” Thea replies, popping the ‘P’. “It’s about time. You wouldn't believe how many people have given him their number. Apparently the schoolboy thing really does it for them?”

Hanschen’s inclined to agree, because the innocence thing works _really_ well on Ernst, but, “He--Ernst Robel, our mutual friend that hasn’t actively pursued _anyone_ since he came out--is on a real, actual date? And they both know it’s a date?”

Thea makes a noise and Hanschen can see her rolling her eyes. “You don’t have to sound so surprised. This is _good_ , Hanschen, he was so _bummed_ earlier yesterday and now he’s out with a guy that takes shirtless selfies and posts them on social media.”

Hanschen nods even if she can’t see him and quickly says goodbye, still shocked that Ernst is on a _date_ , with a _real boy_. A boy who posts shirtless selfies and isn’t self-conscious. A boy who took the movie ticket meant for Hanschen. A boy who _isn’t Hanschen_.

Which is, whatever, _fine_. Ernst is allowed to date people. Hanschen doesn’t care, even if he slams the flowers in the next trashcan he passes and rips open the chocolate.

No, he decides as he viciously bites a chocolate in half, it doesn't matter who Ernst dates.

Not at _all_.

* * *

Ernst is just taking a sip of his drink when Ilse sighs and asks, “What’s going on, Ernst?”

“What?” Ernst asks, nervously. Ilse sighs.

“I’ve seen you more in the last two weeks then I have since we started being friends,” Ilse says, which is… probably true, actually. “I’m concerned that you’re trying to lull me into a false sense of security or something.”

“Haha, no, Ilse, I just wanted to hang out with my good friend!”

Ilse stares at him. “Okay. That sounds hella fake, but okay.”

Ernst takes another slice of the pizza--which he had brought. Ilse didn’t ask too many questions on a typical day but if you brought her food, she was even more likely to not ask anything, and after Moritz refused to talk to Ernst until Ernst told him what was up, he need a break from people trying to figure out what was wrong.

Ilse’s phone chimes. She frowned down at it then back up at Ernst. “Why are you and Hanschen fighting?”

Ernst makes a strangled noise as he chokes on his pizza, before coughing out, “What? We’re not- Not fighting? Who told you that?”

He can tell that his voice tipped into high-pitched hysteria by Ilse’s raised eyebrow. She turns around her phone. “I was texting Wendla and she said that Hanschen has been at her’s for almost a month straight. Thea confirmed that Hanschen was being even more of a baby then usual and Moritz said that you were vegging at his until he started asking you what was wrong. Also, you’ve brought me dinner every night for the last _two weeks_. It’s a _bit_ suspicious, Ernst.”

Ernst pouts into his food. He didn’t think he was being suspicious. “We’re not _fighting_ , persay.”

“But you’re hiding from him?”

“I’m just,” Ernst pauses, “Yeah, no, I can’t spin this any other way. I’m hiding from him.”

Ilse sighs. “What happened?”

“Nothing!” Ernst tries, rather weakly. Ilse raises an unimpressed eyebrow and he continues, “Well, mostly nothing. I was mad and said some things, and then my roommate said that he came by and he looked upset? And I’m still sort of mad at him?” Ernst finishes with a sigh and Ilse rolls her eyes. “I’m just overreacting. It’s fine. Don’t worry.”

“So you’re hiding from him because he’s maybe upset that you’re pissed because he was being a dick. Ernst,” Ilse cuts herself off with another sigh. “Just, stop buying me pizza, if you’re going to hang out here? At least get me some fucking Chinese food or some burgers and fries once in awhile.”

Ernst beams at her and digs back into his pizza. He’ll deal with the Hanschen thing sometime, just… not right now.

* * *

“Why are you here.”

It’s not a question. Wendla knows that Hanschen has been spending all his time at her place, mostly because Ernst probably wouldn’t go there to look for him and he doesn’t want to see Ernst for some reason.

“You have the softest couch,” Hanschen shrugs. Wendla sighs and throws her phone at him.

It’s open to a text conversation with Ilse (And he’ll store away that Ilse has 5 hearts and a smiley face after her name for later), about him and Ernst.

“Why does Ilse get five hearts _and_ a smiley face?” He asks, trying to deflect.

“ _Hanschen_.” Wendla says firmly, “You and Ernst are fighting?”

Hanschen buries his face in his hands. “We’re not, really. And even if we were, Melchior and Ilse fight all the time and no one stages interventions for them.”

“That’s because they fight _all the time_.” He feels the couch depress and Wendla’s hand on his back. “Are you okay?”

Hanschen sighs. Ernst was so mad last time they saw each other, and Hanschen doesn’t know why he didn’t just tell him the Megaplex story, and then Ernst went out on that _date_. Hanschen doesn’t even know _why_ he was mad. Ernst didn’t do anything wrong, and Ernst is just as allowed to go on dates as he is. Ernst is always supportive and happy for him when he asks someone out, but he can’t feel anything but bitter anger. Is he a bad friend?

“I’m fine. Friends have spats sometimes, right?”

Wendla makes a quiet disbelieving noise and Hanschen knows what she’s thinking because Hanschen and Ernst _don’t_. They’ve had little arguments, but they’ve never lasted longer than a day.

They’ve never lasted this long.

Wendla squeezes his shoulder one last time and takes her phone. Hanschen sighs.

It’ll be fine. They’ll work it out. Eventually.

* * *

Two months go by. Ernst stops bothering Ilse all the time, mans up and goes back to his own dorm, but... nothing else changes. He still hasn’t talked to Hanschen, Hanschen still hasn’t talked to him, and they’re still avoiding each other. It’s sort of straining everyone.

“Wendla’s having a party,” Moritz says out of nowhere during their movie, with an air of casualness that _has_ to be fake.

Ernst clicks his tongue. He knows a trap when he sees it. “Is-”

“Yes, but you could still go,” Martha huffs from his other side, “Don’t base your life around what he’s doing.”

Ernst hums quietly, but he’s not really considering it. He knows he won’t go, even if he tells them that he’ll think about it. If Hanschen doesn’t want to talk to him, Ernst isn’t going to force him into an uncomfortable social setting.

Martha groans. “Ernst, you can’t keep-”

“Do you want to see if the ping pong table is free?” Ernst says finally, inelegantly trying changing the subject.

They sigh in unison, but don’t press. Ernst has the best friends, sometimes.

* * *

Hanschen has the worst friends, sometimes.

He’s been blindfolded and someone--Melchior, probably, since he and Ilse are the only ones stronger than Hanschen--is dragging him, tripping and grumbling, somewhere.

They stop, and Georg’s voice asks, “What’s the password?”

The person behind him groans--definitely Melchior--and says, “There’s not a fucking password, Georg. Let us in.”

A door clicks open and Hanschen is about to ask what the fuck is going on, when another voice chimes, “So Melchior is involved in the kidnapping too? Nice.”

Hanschen freezes, and Melchior starts snickering behind him. _That’s Ernst_. “Melchior,” Hanschen tries to whisper, “Please, look, I can’t-”

“Is there someone with you, Melchior?” Ernst asks, and Hanschen feel his face contorting in horror. _Please, please, please, please_.

“Yep! I brought Hanschen.”

Hanschen is pushed forwards and falls onto, more then sits on, a couch. There’s a warm body right next to his that’s probably Ernst. “Hi,” Hanschen says, softly.

“Hey,” Ernst replies, sounding just as uncomfortable as Hanschen feels.

Despite the circumstances, it’s _good_ to be near Ernst again, as much as Hanschen hates to admit it. He had missed him.

The blindfold is ripped off and Hanschen is left blinking at-- _Are you fucking kidding me_ \--an actual interrogation light, like this is some bad 90’s detective movie.

“Turn the light down,” Someone says, and the light dims to a brightness that won’t kill his retina. The ‘Someone’ turns out to be Anna, utilizing her strongest I-Am-Disappointed frown. “Now, I’m sure you know why we’ve brought you here today.”

“No, actually,” Ernst says, “I have no idea why our busybody friends would force us into the same room and sit us down like they’re trying to intimidate criminal secrets from us.”

Ernst sounds upset, and Hanschen can’t bring himself to actually look to his left to gauge Ernst’s expression; he’s too afraid that he’ll find the angry, sad expression that’s haunted him for months now.

“We’re trying to help you,” Moritz starts, before Ernst stands.

“Well, that’s _awfully_ nice of you,” Ernst starts, gesturing angrily, “How crazy though, that I can’t seem to find _any appreciation for it_.” He starts to storm off, Hanschen looking after him mournfully because _he’s still mad, of course he is_ , when Anna grabs him by the ear.

Ernst shrieks, but Anna only holds on tighter when he tries to pull away. She steers him back to the couch, ignoring his cries of pain, and pushes him down. “I was trying to be nice, but I’m really tired of this and you are going to _sit down_ and talk it out like adults, _so help me god_.”

* * *

They don’t need an intervention. Ernst was _fine_ , okay? Hanschen was fine and Ernst was fine and everyone was _fine_.

Ernst opens his mouth to say this, but Anna still has her fingers wrapped around his earlobe and she tugs in warning. “Okay, okay, fine! We can talk.”

Despite his words, no one says anything. Eventually, Otto groans and says, “Start with why the fuck you guys are fighting in the first place.”

Ernst flushes because it’s _dumb_ , because they’re only fighting because he let his crush get the better of him, and he’s about to say that it’s nothing when Hanschen blurts, “I’m banned from the Megaplex.”

 _What_.

“What?”

“I’m banned from the Megaplex,” Hanschen repeats, “I couldn’t go to Ant-Man opening night because I’m banned, and I was being a dick.”

Ernst is, honestly, surprised that Hanschen is acknowledging it. Everyone knows that Hanschen is sometimes a bit dick-ish, but he rarely admits it.

“... How do you get banned from a movie theater?” Melchior asks, voice tinged with morbid curiosity. Ernst snorts at the horrified and worried look that Mortiz throws at their friend.

Hanschen sighs. “So you know how I went on that date with my TA?” Not everyone nods, and a few of them even send Ernst concerned glances, but Hanschen continues, “Bobby and I were watching a movie, and we got a bit… _distracted_ , let’s say.”

There’s a pause and then, “You got banned from a movie theater for making out with someone?”

Hanschen coughs delicately, and only people who know him well could pick out the beginnings of a blush on his ears. Ernst snorts. “He got banned from a movie theater for doing _more_ than making out,” He guesses, and the way Hanschen’s ears redden confirms it.

“Public indecency,” Hanschen mutters, “And fucking _Bobby Maler_ got off scot-free.”

Someone laughs, which makes everyone laugh, and even though Hanschen is pouting, Ernst can see the happiness in his eyes.

They’re going to be okay.

**Author's Note:**

> et voila! 
> 
> hope you enjoyed! i am literally always up for prompts or just talking headcanons or just screaming about fandom stuff :)
> 
> [tumblr](http://bisexualwilliampoindexter.tumblr.com) | [twitter](http://twitter.com/nerdyfanchick)


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